


Just Asking About The Car, Obviously

by Enele



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AAA mechanic, Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Artist Clarke, Car Accidents, F/M, Fluff, but noemiette and patronusbro were so here we are, i'm not really convinced of this, it's nice and sweet at the end though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enele/pseuds/Enele
Summary: Clarke is on her way home when her car breaks down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just pretend that Bellamy is totally into cars. – Unlike me, who isn't into cars, so don't believe anything about the mechanical information in this story. It's probably rubbish and if you know better, please help me out and tell me.
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://www.chatvongesternnacht.de/chat252964) German text chat: where the German equivalent of the AAA guy basically sends a follow-up pick-up line.

Half an hour until Arcadia, Clarke heart a boom over the motor noises of her car. Some warning signal lit up, telling her something wasn't quite right.

Clarke cursed and navigated her car to the edge of the carriageway.

Of course her little Fiat had to break down so close to home. Of course it had to happen on a day on which she was already tense as fuck. Of course it had to happen at a time where she had just re-connected with her mum and was on the way to visit her. Of course.

The car came to hold and Clarke sighed. She let the hood click up, went to the front to open it and was met with incredible heat. Yeah, well. Nice idea to try to touch the front of her car when she had driven for three hours straight. 

It was probably pointless anyway. Clarke didn't really know things about cars. She could open the hood, look at oily black metal, say “hm” and would be as smart as before. No, there were people far more gifted with mechanical knowledge and talent.

“Oh, right.” There _really_ were more gifted people and she was in a motor club just because of that.

Two minutes later, there was a comforting deep voice on her phone. “American Automobile Association, Arcadia breakdown service, what can I do for you?”

“Um, yeah, hello.”

“Hello.”

“My car kinda broke down? I was driving and then there was a boom and some light went on – I think the temperature? – so I stopped the car?”

After a pause, the mechanic said: “That was certainly a good idea. It sounds like the V belt, but I'll have a look. Where are you?”

“About half an hour until Arcadia, Route 13a.”

“Okay, I'll be there in twenty. Secure yourself and your surroundings, bring distance between you and the street. Have important documents nearby. Can you be contacted under this number?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Good. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

She hung up and collected her stuff. She grabbed some snacks, put on the hazard lights, closed her car and walked a few meters into the woods until she found a trunk to sit on. She still was in her business clothes (secretly, she planned to impress her mum with it, showing her that she was well off, but she'd never admit that to anyone), so she carefully stroke across the fabric of her trousers and blouse, evening out any creases. 

God, she had just wanted to see her mum and visit some old friends for a week. She didn't want her car to break down and having to wait for an emergency mechanic in the middle of nowhere. For a mechanic with a disturbingly nice voice, though. 

 

After a day of driving, being in the woods was quite nice. Wind rushed through the leaves, invisible birds and insects twittered and whirred around. Spots of sunlight illuminated bushes and there was a calming feeling of peace, only to be interrupted by passing cars. But there weren't many, this street wasn't really used a lot, so Clarke tried to even out her breathing, to enjoy the wind on her skin and to calm the fuck down.

The AAA car arrived after Clarke had informed her mother about her delayed arrival – it was a miracle that there was connection in the middle of nowhere but yeah. There was.

She waved at the AAA car. She felt incredibly stupid about it (she obviously had the only car broken down for miles), so she dropped her hand. The car parked before hers. As the passenger door opened, a tall young man left the vehicle. 

He turned around and Clarke was startled for a moment. His nose and lips were wide and big but his jawline was as sharp as a razor and _god_ , those where some kind of shoulders. This skin glowed golden in the setting sunlight. However, the striking impression of his well-built body dissolved the moment he caught Clarke's eye and wore a tight expression.

“Hello, did you call for the AAA breakdown service?”, he asked, voice deep and tensed.

“Yes, that's me”, Clarke said, stretching out her hand. 

For a short moment, his jaw clenched, and Clarke nearly thought she missed it, but he took her hand and shook it once. He let her hand go like fire, showed her his shoulder and pointed to her Fiat. “That's the car?”

Clarke straightened herself, raising nose and eyebrows slightly. She nodded shortly.

“Can I see your AAA ID?”

He checked her membership, then asked her to open the hood.

“Hopefully it's cooled down enough now”, she joked, pressing the button at her door. She couldn't hear his answer because he had already pulled the whole hood open and hid behind it. 

She slowly came around and saw him bowed him over her motor, looking around. After some moment of suspenseful silence, he said to her car: “What I thought. V belt broke. Needs a change.” And he turned around to his own car.

Clarke hummed. “Okay, care to explain?” He kept doing something in the trunk of his car, so she continued a bit sharper in her voice. “I don't really know much about cars, so 'your V belt broke' isn't really helping.”

He turned around and his eyes were ice. Slowly, he said. “Of course you don't know stuff about cars. Why should anyone have knowledge about the technical devices they operate?” He paused, hovering over her, hands stemmed into his side. “Why should people like you care about maintaining the things they own at all – if Daddy's there to buy it new?” 

Clarke looked at him with an open mouth. 

“Excuse me?”, she hissed. There was a hot burn behind her eyes because she suddenly remembered her cautious dad but she turned that energy into anger. “Do you realize what you just said? You made vague assumptions – about my personal background – based on what? My look? My clothes? Gosh, I think you're old enough to know better!?”

He looked a bit remorseful, staring to the grounds. Clarke was aware that he had been nice on the phone but as soon as he had seen her, he _had_ behaved like an arrogant asshole. And she was Clarke. She wouldn't let him get away with it. 

“Also, who are you to judge?”, she barked up at him. “I have basic understanding about the physical processed in a car but _sorry_ for not knowing every place of every screw and _sorry_ that I leave this to people who are _interested enough_ in automobile mechanics  to repair strangers' cars for money! So _sorry_ for supporting you!”

He stared at her, still in menacing posture, and she couldn't quite read his expression. His brows were furrowed but he looked more thoughtful than angry. Her breast rose and fall as she tried to calm down. She finally saw him swallow and relax.

“Sorry”, he said, jerking his head away and blinking. He stared into his trunk compartment and shifted his weight and somehow his movement was so boyish that all her anger vanished and turned into pity and affection.

She came closer and looked up at him. “Though day?”, she quietly asked.

“Though day”, he replied low, and heat ran down Clarke's spine. He raised his head and said: “I wanted to meet my sister but an old fr-- yeah, you probably don't want to hear about my sister.”

And he grinned down to her and it lit up his whole face and parts of her brain stopped working for a sweet moment but she pulled herself together and chuckled: “No, not really. I want to hear about my V belt!”

He laughed and shifted his weight again. “Yeah, right, about that. So, you know you have a battery that gets loaded when you drive?” She nodded. “And the V belt is crucial for that. So when it breaks, it's not really good for your electronics and usually the motor also gets really hot because cooling doesn't work any more.”

“Oh crap.”

“But I have a new V belt with me and can change it right now.” He said a price.

“And the alternative would be towing?”, Clarke asks.

“Probably. I wouldn't drive half an hour to Arcadia with a broken V belt.”

“Okay.” Clarke shrugged. “Do what you have to do. I trust you.”

He grinned at her. Then he was serious again: “Again, sorry about earlier. I … I fell back into old behaviours.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow at him. Then she sighed. “Alright. Just don't … don't do it again.”

He nodded and then they smirked at each other.

 

Clarke watched him while he was working. He described every step he made, as if to make up for earlier limited information, but she wasn't really listening. Her interest wasn't strong enough and his appearance _way_ too distracting. From where she was standing, she had a nice view of his upper back, his broad shoulders, his honey-colored neck, his dark hair curling across his skin. She saw the muscles in his arms and shoulders working, she saw tendons and veins moving, she saw sunlight dancing across his back. His arms were strong and muscular, fingers large and long and she desperately wanted them to grasp her hip. She imagined how it'd feel to embrace him, huddle around his broad shoulders, gripping her hands into his back as he hovered over her, pressing her down, blocking her view and pressing his lips onto her collarbone. And she bit her lip, pressed her legs and feet together and as she let go a silent, shattered breath, she knew she had to leave. She excused herself and walked to the back of her car.

Yes, she was swooning over the hot mechanic like a fourteen-year old.

She damned herself. It had definitively been too long since her last hook-up. Hopefully Octavia would be up for drinks tonight, not just dinner, and maybe she could find someone for the night.

When Clarke came back, the mechanic didn't seem as if he noticed anything. “Okay. Could you turn up the engine please?”

She did as he asked and went back to him. “So it sounds fine to me, I think?” Sudden excitement went through her veins.

“They definitively do”, he said. He checked the engine. “Looks good, too.”

“Really?”, Clarke let go delighted, grabbed his wrist and hovered over her engine, too. “It works again?”

“Seems so.”

She pulled herself back still holding onto his wrist and grinned. Then she noticed the contact and let go. “Uh. Sorry. Didn't realize I was so tense.”

His lips curled upwards. “It's fine.”

She looked down to her hand. There was motor oil everywhere and on his hands, too.

“Let me take care of this”, he said. A cloth appeared in his hands, together with soap and a water bottle, and he gently started to clean up her hands. His fingers were warm and soft against her skin and warm, red blush crept up her necks and checks. She felt his gaze on her but she didn't dare to look up and instead decided to observe how his hand moved over hers, her knees weak.

 

They filled out some necessary paperwork and made transactions when he got a next break-down call. 

“Duty calls”, he said and Clarke probably just imagined that there was sadness in his voice. “If anything shouldn't work, just call again.”

“Okay”, Clarke said. They stood two steps away from each other. She didn't know what to say. 

After two beats, he walked to his door. 

“And please do me a favor – let someone check your car from time to time”, he said teasingly.

“But I do!”, Clarke said and stepped closer.

His brows furrowed as he sat down. “Then please change your garage. They should notice things like that.” His engine started. “The one in Arcadia is pretty good.” He smirked at her through his open window. “See you!”

She could only shout “See you, too!” and take a step back to make room for his car. Then he turned, was on the opposite side of the roads and honked three times. 

This time, Clarke waved properly.

On her way to her mum, she thought that it was just like with doctors, saying “See you” to emergency mechanics as a good-bye. Because seeing them again would probably mean that the car broke down again, and that isn't really something you'd wish for yourself. 

Clarke energetically tried to shut up the small part of her brain wishing for her car to break down again.

She never even got his name.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon with her mum went pleasantly smooth. They hadn't seen each other for a while and longed to catch up on each other. There had been times where things were more difficult, times where each of them had made choices the other one couldn't relate to, and bonding after that took its time and progress. But they eventually were able to overcome their troubles and work together again.

So when Octavia called to ask whether they could turn their dinner date into a night at a bar – “And I know you live a bit outside of town but you can crash at my place so you don't have to drive home and can drink” –, Clarke agreed. She was visiting in her old home town for a week but she knew she had to use the time her mum didn't have to work at the hospital. They cooked dinner together and shared stories of annoying patients and difficult art buyers. 

Right before she let for the bar, she received a text by an unknown number:

“ _How is the little Fiat? Hope it got you home well.”_

Suddenly, she felt very hot. Her phone vibrated again:

“ _Sorry, should have added that this is the AAA guy. The one who 'knows every place of every screw' ;)”_

She inhaled a sharp breath and stared out of her window. This couldn't be real, right? Her heart beat faster and she bit on her lip. Before she could over-think anything, she sent:

“ _Yes, thanks a lot, it went really fine!”_

Then she read her message again. Wow, this was detached. She added: 

“ _I got home safe and well. Or was your message really about the car? wink wink”_

This answer came right away.  _“Glad to hear. It may have been about its owner, too … :)”_

She swallowed hard.  _“doesn't this kinda go beyond usual customer service?”_

“ _It totally does. Couldn't help myself though ;)”_

Oh god, she was so screwed. So, so screwed. 

She grabbed her car keys. _“Knew it lol. Let's talk tomorrow okay? i'm a bit busy :)”_

“ _Sure. Have a nice evening!”_

“Bye, mum!”, Clarke shouted over her shoulder while typing _“bye”_ into her phone. 

Wow. This week was going to be something. Clarke closed her door. 

 

Meeting Octavia was _awesome_.

They had had some weird history more or less, never being _really_ close but working together. They had been playing soccer together in high school and while Clarke was all for tactics and strategy, Octavia just wanted to run through the opponent's rows and score goals. It had been reason for many arguments but somehow, they had still relied on each other on the field. Clarke had left the team after a year but she and Octavia still remained in irregular contact. It had only increased when Clarke started to work in an art gallery in Polis. 

They ordered a little too many drinks. Octavia wanted to know all about “pretentious art snobs” and liked to bash Clarke's boss (who really was a pain in the ass, but she managed). Clarke wanted to know every little piece of rumor about the people from high school, about who married whom, who got pregnant, who freaked out and who lived a descent life. Octavia told her little things about her boyfriend of two years. They remembered embarrassing soccer games, violent fouls and happy coincidences. Clarke laughed a lot and drank a lot. Her heart was light, she felt pleased and she was really glad she was back home for a few days.

When she padded on Octavia's head, slured “Your hair is still soooooo soft”, Clarke realized how very tired she was. She had driven the whole afternoon, the past week was still in her bones and while she had really enjoyed her time with her mum and Octavia, it probably was a bit much.

“Let's go home, Clarke”, Octavia laughed.

She stood up. “Mmmh fine. But I didn't even find anyone to hook up with”, Clarke mumbled and thought of the hot mechanic.

“Trust me, you will sometime this week.” Octavia grinned and opened her arms. “Come on. My couch is comfy and waiting for you.”

It sounded like the best idea of the whole day.

 

Octavia owned a red couch in her living room with big, soft pillows.

“So, just a heads-up”, Octavia said and came into the room with a blanket. “I'm still living with my brother, so don't freak out when you meet a guy in the morning. I'm not cheating on Lincoln.”

Clarke grinned and set up her sleeping place. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.” She started to yawn in the middle of the sentence, so it was a miracle Octavia understood her at all.

Octavia chuckled.

Bathroom procedure decreased to a minimum and five minutes later, Clarke finally lay in a horizontal position. Octavia's couch was as cozy as it looked. Clarke cuddled herself deeper into the pillows. She heard Octavia going to the bathroom.

“Night”, she muttered sleepy, and closed her eyes. The tension rolled in deep, heavy waves off her and peace embraced her heart. Her breath was steady and lulling. She did wake up, though, from the distant sound of footsteps and she wasn't really able to say how much time had passed, but it couldn't be much since it was still dark and Octavia's bedside lamp showed through the door like when Clarke had settled down on the couch. It probably was just Octavia coming back from the bathroom, anyway, and Clarke closed her eyes again. 

Her mind was at ease soon and her breath was slow and steady. Her body was calm. She was at the edge of sleep, so she wasn't quite sure if she imagined the hushed words spoken or not.

“You know her? … – Ohmygod, are you crushing on her?”

And then, so deep she _surely_ imagined it: 

“No …?!”

 

Clarke woke by the sound of toast jumping out of the toaster.

It was a nice sound, she decided sleepily It sounded like progress, productivity, _action_ ; but at the same time like comfort, warmth and promise. She should draw a series of morning stuff, she considered as she sat up; things right between sleep and work, bearing both slowness and speed within themselves, foreshadowing a glorious day.

It was an intense line of thought and it was too much so shortly after waking up, so she made it up by smearing Octavia's tooth paste everywhere but onto the tooth brush. The day started well.

Her head didn't ache as much as she thought it would and while she certainly didn't look properly rested, she looked more or less presentable. More or less.

So she walked to the kitchen and nearly slipped as she saw a huge, dark figure at Octavia's kitchen table.

Oh, right. Octavia had a brother. 

He turned around by her sound and froze. 

“Oh”, he said.

Clarke blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the bright sunlight shining in through the windows, and realized _why_ Octavia's brother had said that.

“Oh”, Clarke repeated. 

He was the AAA mechanic.

She swallowed. 

His upper body was turned towards her. He wore plaid blue shorts – boxers or pajamas, who'd know – and a dark blue shirt, his curls were a mess and his eyes were puffy. His lower arms rested on the table, one hand holding a knife and the other one reaching for a glass of jam, and his feet were crossed under his chair. 

Their eyes glanced over each other and then his face lit up; his eyes were suddenly sparkling and he said without any heat:

“So, a night out is what you call being busy?”

Clarke laughed. It sounded throaty, too throaty, and she saw how he swallowed. She tilted her head. “Seems like it.”

They smirked at each other. Clarke stared a moment too long onto his curled lips – “So, I'm the old friend your sister dumped you for?”

He grinned to the toast on his plate, then to her. “Seems like it. If you're an old friend, why haven't I seen you before?”

She raised her chin. “We were on the same soccer team. But we had our differences and I left after a year.”

“Because of Octavia?” He looked shocked.

Clarke smiled gently. “No, no. But we didn't like each other enough back then to meet outside of practice, so that's why we probably never met. We just started to get into contact again.”

He was thinking for a moment. “Are you the one who fought her for wanting to crash down the other team and run them over?”

“That'd be me”, she nodded.

He started to laugh. “Oh god, there were so many discussions at home back then! 'Clarke said this, Clarke said that', rules versus chaos, all the way. She used to be grumpy _for days_ about it. I should have made the connection, honestly, but I always thought it was a last name.”

“You're not the first one.” 

They grinned at each other, a bit shy, and then Clarke realized: “I don't know your name, though.”

He blinked. “You don't?”, he asked confused.

“Well, you didn't really introduce yourself yesterday ...” Clarke smirked, remembering their bad start.

“Oh right”, Bellamy said. “Sorry, that was rude. I'm Bellamy.”

_Bellamy_ , Clarke repeated in her head. He waved across the table. “Come here, have a seat. O won't be up for another hour.”

She slid on the chair opposite of him. The kitchen table was filled with breakfast; various types of jam, peanut butter, toast, pancakes, fruits, eggs, cornflakes –

“Coffee? Juice? Tea?”

She glanced up from the cornucopia. Bellamy looked expectant at her. 

“Mmh, coffee would be nice”, she slowly said.

He opened a Thermos bottle and poured black liquid into a mug. “Here you are.”

She added some milk. The mug was warm in her hands, warm and comforting. It wasn't really remembering her of productivity, at least not in the state of being in a cup and not her system, so it probably wouldn't make it into the morning series. Maybe the coffee maker would.

He cleared his throat.

She looked up and caught Bellamy looking at her. He looked away and it made her blush a little, so she took a sip of coffee and instantly burned her tongue. She put the mug down. “You're always making such a big breakfast?”

“Well, it's the most important meal of the day, right?”

“I don't even have that much time in the morning”, Clarke muttered, more to herself than to anyone.

He stroke butter onto his toast. “It has a way of waking me up, you know.” The knife looked small in his hand; small, fragile and silver. “And I never know what I want to eat until I see it, and I like to see Octavia eating piles of food.”

Clarke bit on her lips. She'd love someone making breakfast for her, but she didn't dare to say it.

He frowned. “Is there nothing here you'd like to eat?”

She looked at him with open eyes.

“Clarke, there are three place settings on this table because of a reason”, he said slowly and his voice was so deep it ran a shiver down her spine. “Be my guest.”

Embarrassed that she didn't understand the invitation, blush rose up from her neck onto her cheeks. She straightened up.

“Thank you”, she muttered.

“You're welcome”, he said and bit off his toast.

Clarke chose pancakes. 

Eating with Bellamy was nice. There was easy conversation, casual and natural, and there were moments of silence. He teased her, she made him laugh, he watched the light in her hair and she observed the movement of his hands. When they didn't talk, they prepared and ate their food, and it was a bustling sequence of quiet activities.

Clarke decided that Bellamy belonged to her collection of morning things.

 

As Bellamy had promised, Octavia arrived an hour later, looking dozy and grumpy. It all turned into a devious grin, though, when she learned that Clarke and Bellamy had already met the day before. 

While Octavia got a shower, Bellamy cleared this throat and leaned forward. “I kinda want to take you out on a date.”

Clarke stared at her plate and her lips turned upward slightly. Then she looked up through her lashes, noticed how he swallowed and said with a smirk: “I'm free on Monday.”

As he chuckled, he kept her gaze through his squeezed eyes. Clarke turned her head to the window and laughed. Thank god she had decided to stay a whole week.

 

They went out for lunch on Monday. The day after, they met each other by accident at the supermarket and between two shelves offering jam and cornflakes, Clarke reached up to his cheeks and kissed him. Bellamy stayed with Clarke that night. By the next morning, they were a couple. 

Three months later, Clarke showed her morning themed art series in her gallery's new Arcadia branch. The center of the exhibition was an installation of breakfast on a kitchen table. At the wall, there was an oil painting of Bellamy pouring coffee into a mug.

**Author's Note:**

> It is cheesy and I love it! 
> 
> Thanks to noemiette and patronusbro on tumblr for beta-reading! :)


End file.
